Originally posted by xiinfaniin: ...Anigu inta uu Sh. Shariif ammaansiinayo sheekooyinkaasaan iska aq-aqrisan. Iisoo sheeg haddaad aragto asagoo sheekha maagayya Bishaarooy... I didn't know Nephtys inay Jaajuus u tahay Xinn!

Heshiiskaad iigu bishaaraynaysay ma kan maanta la sheegaa??????? Kaas ma rabo anigu kugunna raaci maayo marnaba. Inta dhalinyaradii dhiigooddii lagu soo caan baxay baa maanta intii soo hadhayna la qayaamayaa. Sheekh Shariif was the suppossed leader of the Resistance. He was taking credit for that. He can't just issue a statement denouncing the armed struggle without consulting the commanders he sent to the field. Meesha ma malcaamad buu moodayaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Kola uu odhan ha la soo xaadiro, kolnna maanta waa fasax; siddi macalinkaygii quraanka- Gadh Shilin.

Originally posted by Dhashiike: [QB] from: b. Within a period of 120 days of the signing of this agreement the TFG will act in accordance with the decision that has already been taken by the Ethiopian Government to withdraw its troops from Somalia after the deployment of a sufficient number of UN Forces c. The ARS shall, through a solemn public statement, cease and condemn all acts of armed violence in Somalia and dissociate itself from any armed groups or individuals that do not adhere to the terms of this Agreement. :eek: :eek: The decision taken by Ethiopia??? (Itoobiya face-saving looga dhigayaa intaa). Oo haddii intan la ogolaan maxaa ciyaalka Iidaale loogu dhamaynayeey when Sheekh Shariif oo AK-47 wataa uu TV'ga ka hadlayay. There is no agreement here. Those who are fighting in Somalia will continue to fight. Those who tired along the way will either go to the TFG or just rest. That is quite normal in all struggles. But this cheap men in Djibouti will achieve nothing. They betrayed thier friends.If they want peace, they should have made one with their own groups first.

Originally posted by Northerner: Abtigiis, As for France vs Romania, France will win this one very comfortably. I would go as far saying they will score 3 goals. Again, as is usual with international football, I don’t know what the tactics will be but considering the prestigious leagues the French players play in, their experience and their pace all over the park, I would be surprised if Romania even go a sniff of a goal tonight. Holland vs Italy is a tough one to call. The Dutch team is a little more experienced than a few years ago but the Italians will never lie down. Again, I have no idea what their respective tactics will be because I have not seen them play for 2 years since the world cup but I can guess how things will pan out. Italy will try to contain the Dutch and the Dutch will use a lot of wing play. I will go out on a limb and say the Dutch to sneak it. Now it is time for SOL to ban lousy predictors. the match he said will be tight ended 3-0, the one he said will end in 3-0 proved to be an stalemate. I knew it was going to come to this, when they allowed peopel who are more privy to SHAX and JARA'KA BOODO to comment on football. Anyway, Adios le Bleu. Way tageen kuwaasi. Waa kolkay Axmaraa night watchmen odhan jireen, "Tarayaa nayinaa Indhaati Shabarii Si la yish aznaalaw ALMAAZ dhahnaa dharii" (Caawa anigaa ku qoran gaadhka oo waan kaa sii soconee Almaz nabad galyo, nabad ku soo bari) France nabadgalyo. People will see that France hasn't underperformed last night when they see how the panicky but composed Romanians play the Dutch. Wait for that as well. Italy: What do you expect when a team of old grumpy men in their mid-30s (in football terms they are old), living by the glory of the past are assembled. Grosso and Di Natale, and Zambrotta are the only good ones. Why would anyone keep Camranosi, the combative but less constructive Gattuso, and Masimo Ambrossini in the squal. Pirlo is class. But again, Italy got a doze of their own medicine last night. They like to sit back and catch the opponents in the counter. I am glad they got a whipping it from Marco Van Basten's men. I would have liked 5-o.

^^^ what makes the letter suspicious?

Who is Oodwayne? ma fooxlaa? Nepthys way i waalaysaa. Bishaaro qof la yidhaa meesha ku ma arko.

^ Samirkaakuu kii N.Ayuubna wuu dhaafay. I am no more sure inay sidan caadi kaa tahay. But most of all, I am amazed the good wise man is not asking people like Duke inay amaanka ugu dadaalaan. Isku si uma bugtaanee,iska du warkooda ragaa.

LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOl at broken watch.

Sheekh Daahir’s Mystic Powers They call him Kitaab-dheere not because he hangs around long holy books. No, it is because of the depth of knowledge he acquired in the quarters of divinity. Sheekh Dahir is unrivalled in his translations of dreams, presentiments, auguries, and the obvious. That he uses his powers punitively is not because he wants to. He often says he would rather promote people to high offices and riches than make one of their siblings sick. But the people are ‘headstrong’. And they leave him with no option. Soofe, for instance. What was he doing in telling Sheikh Dahir, “if you were responsible for the coming of the rains this season, then me and you have nothing to talk about. You skipped my farm and I don’t give you a handful of grain.” He said that, when the good Sheikh triumphantly told him, he brought the rains. Greed got the better of him. He just wanted a pretext not to give the Shiekh his due. And look how he was punished. Sheikh Dahir didn’t even use his favourite ‘Bara bisin la’ to stop his heart. He could have done that. Instead, he opted for ‘Al-qaarica’ which he says is literally ‘ta wax gar garaacda’ and he paralysed one-side of him. That will serve the purpose of dissuading potential rebels and any attempt at Iconoclasm. For it was the established norm that no one challenges the Sheikh. 'Somaliland', they call him as well. They say the two have much in common in the pursuit of recognition. But that is what they talk in under wraps. The last time he addressed a crowd, he said, “Somaliland oo kale angia ha imoodina’. Recognition of my powers are sent from up. I don’t seek that from the hands of infidels.” Pity that people still call him that tag, after all the attempts to dispel the existence of a common denominator! But the Sheikh is unlucky. Luciano Pavarotti would have sought apprenticeship from Sheekh Dahir [who prior to his beatification to ‘awliyo-hood’ was born Xaashi Madaxeey]; had he heard his voice when he let out the sublime Qasiido- in the company of four or so women who untiringly put foox into the fire. The aroma, the spirituality and the tranquillity is mirthful. As the Shiekh, tall and graceful, reclines on several pillows, the melody flows like milk from the breast of Gobaad to the metrical reception of the possessed women: “Mandad yaaaaaaaaa Awliyo Alaay Mandad mandad Awliyo Alaay mandad mandad Yaa jalal anbiyaa Yaa suufiyaal” But Cali Mataan –the frail and sick old man living next to his house, neither accepted the Sheikh’s powers nor understood why the Shiekh threatened to smash his small house when there is a big Axmaaro liquor house next to his. That Sheikh Dahir does not object to the presence of that ungodly edifice lit lights of suspicion in the heart of the old man. Yet, he saw what happened to others who trusted their hunch and dared to speak out. And word was out Sheik Daahir has acquired new strong verses that will wipe out all the descendents of transgressors at one go. They say it is a hybrid of verses from Qulu-cawdu birabil falaq, wa shamsi, and the deadly Cama indha’la. He prays that gossip he made the other day about why Kitaaab-dheere wouldn’t fight the occupying Xabashi’s and evict them from the land through a combination of landslides and storms never reaches the pious man's ears. But who knows? Maybe he is perfecting his techniques for a devastating hit when he gets the green light from the Almighty? After all, who can fathom what is going on in the minds of ‘people of God’? When Sheikh Dahir’s wife asked why he doesn’t take care of his own kids, while he promoted Ilma Cumar-Jabane (who he claims to have made them successful in their schools and gave them Ministerial positions); he replies that what she saw as an apparent lack of concern for his family is the defining feature of ‘awliyadda dhabta ah’. But Sheikh Dahir is angry of late. All kinds of blasphemies are being reported to him by his ‘quruumo’ mainly coming from kids who frequent Internet sites (which he calls Xoolo Shaydaan) and [advised against its use long ago] and from some self-declared ‘educated’ youngsters. That is why tonight, he is working in high secrecy to come up with the deadliest weapon ever produced by an Awliyo. His mentor-Mo’alin Timoweyne will congratulate him from the grave. Fittingly, it was at that point when he heard the news that Iran is accused of developing nuclear weapon [he later learned it has the power to exterminate the human race from the face of earth] in underground tunnels. He laughed. They had no idea the one he is just to bring to being. "They better call me Iran", he mused.

^^^ Waan arkay in Ilka-jiir iyo wax lagu dhadhajiyo. I mean wax quman adaan ka heynnaa dhulkaas. All are useless pro-TFG. BTW, throwing stones is a favourite hobby in BURCO. The legendary man who was caught throwing stones at neighbours roof is quoted to have said, "Kaa aan gacanta ku hayo uun aan ka saaro horta ee la isugoo"; when asked to stop. Consequently, it is quite acceptable for Ibtisam to launch an avalanche. It is not in bad faith, it is in the blood.

Isseh War turjun heesta. Arlo dhan oo Makhiir la yidhaabaa kaligaa lagaa hayaabee!

Originally posted by J.a.c.a.y.l.b.a.r.o: Yes i'll do ..... Here is the translation: quote: Burco waxay ku taalaa Xidhidada tiniyo cidhib Tabinaaya dhiigee halbawlaha talaabee Todobaateen jeer baan soo toosay xalayoo Taan dumar ku leeyahay waa Gabadh Togdheeroo Anigaba Togdheerbaa Anigaba Togdheerbaa Tuunku iiga muuqdaa Burco is the worst place i've seen I didn't sleep last night coz it is stinky My love is there and she is stinky too Me and togdheer me adn togdheer Are far from each other ,, You abused my trust JB. And set the field to Ibti to do what she does best: attack. any volunteer except this lier. Isseh iskaga jar adigu. JB is jealous. He can't stomach I pass by his village (to which his translation applies to) and praise Burco. Northern yaa xaal laga rabaa??

^^^^ will some one volunteer to translate what I wrote above to Mrs. jean PLEASE!!I am in danger.

JB Waayo waayo yaad naxusuusinaysa by the mere mentioning of BURCO. Heestan miyaad garan (Muse I. Qalinle) Burco waxay ku taalaa Xidhidada tiniyo cidhib Tabinaaya dhiigee halbawlaha talaabee Todobaateen jeer baan soo toosay xalayoo Taan dumar ku leeyahay waa Gabadh Togdheeroo Anigaba Togdheerbaa Anigaba Togdheerbaa Tuunku iiga muuqdaa

^ Kaasi meel walba wuu gali. The good thing is no one will recognise hims as Somali. People will think he is the younger bro of Wesley Snipes.

Ibtisam It is not your fault. It is that irresponsible old man- Xinn, who said he will deliver it to you. Iskadaa.

Originally posted by NGONGE: A & T has been wrong in every prediction he made so far. If you want to predict the correct result of any game in this tournament, it seems all you have to do is contradict A&T. But I'm going to go out on a limp on this one and say that Romania will get something out of their game with France. The French are notorious slow starters and they have a coach that is completely, totally and utterly eccentric (he confessed to choosing his team according to their Star Signs!). ps Romania will play 2-7-1 formation with Muto alone upfront. This will change to 8-1-1 when defending.p Edit: I'm still sticking with Croatia. finally some sense from NGONGE. Anyway, I will have the last laugh as the tournament goes on.

That Far for Attention Although Sheekh Maxamuud was mindful of the ferocity of the fury his verdict would entail amongst the faithful, he had no option but to announce the Ciid festivities for tomorrow. That he often digs into all ‘loopholes’ in the Holy Scriptures to shorten the holly month of Ramadan by an average of two to three days each year; has nothing to do with his chronic ulcers-contrary to the falsehood the young irresponsible Xerow spread. Or so he wishes to believe. After all, why does he have to give a damn about the fabrications of the neophyte Xerow, who was upset because he felt his ‘mu’addin’ title, has gone to a relative of the Sheekh. Livid over this, he started the gossip that the Sheekh feigned illness in the first two days of the Ramadan; so that he is not told of the news of the entry of the holy month. This maverick xerow hasn’t quite attained the reaches of Erasmus’s ridicules and mocks against theologians in the praise of folly , but has all the marks of a ‘rebel’ in the making. Sheekh Maxamuud was fully aware of it, but was also confident he has solid religious grounds to declare tomorrow-Thursday, Ciid el-Fidri. After all, he has a living witness. Badal Garawle is a short, stout, and kind of dumpy looking man. God has not been gracious to him in good looks, humour or some other exceptional talent. That embitters him as he hardly finds his name in the domain of any sort of discussions in this small town in the Hawd. But the last two years were exceptionally good to him. Rather, he was good to himself. Last year, it was him who spotted the crescent, bishii, and was the sole eyewitness in the entire town. In every corner, people happily exchanged compliments of the Eid, blessing Badal. As early as three decades ago, Osman Gacanlaw understood man’s vanity and his inherent penchant for attention; as is evident in his inspirational song: Inaan ahey nin mudan oo kara wixii uu maagaba,waa inuu magaaladda magacaygu gaadhaa. It is this proclivity for self-importance that catapults the desire in us to ‘be noticed’. Ambition follows; and like appetite for food, attention-seeking varies in degree among humans. Nonetheless, it is invariably emblematic of all. That night, a repeat of the rare moment of ‘grandeur’ and ‘acknowledgement’ was on Badal’s mind; when he tumbled forth to the stage next to the Imam in the Cisha prayers and swore that he has seen bishii again. Of course, both years, he would have been the last person to see it; even if a three-night moon was on a clear sky. He has a very bad sight. But who among them would not have lied to get a glimpse of attention, after years of seclusion and obscurity! He reasoned, as he shook off the tinge of guilt he felt inside for lying to the devout community. All the doubts, shouts, and recriminations that followed Sheekh Maxamuud’s edict; all the threats against Badal and insults hurled at him; and all the protest angry mobs took to his uncle- wiilkan aad adderka u tahay maad umadda ka qabatid; were to no avail, in the end. Badal knew this was a passing annoyance. No other country has seen the moon; but the Sheikh was adamant: ‘inagga aragtina ku sooma, agagtina ku afura ayaa la ina yidhi.” Several hours later as the day break; all the tea houses played Ciid songs from loud speakers hooked to their windows. Xassen Diriye has always been the favorite in this small town for such occasions. “Maanta Cadar iyo aynu maaweel Isku maydhnoo Mushmushaaxnee Maalinta weyn yaan la moogaan…” Ciid revelers cheered and chanted to the song. As Badal strode to the prayers that morning, all the old women who saw him on his way waved their hands to him in appreciation. Shariifo Barni believes god has endowed this man with supernatural gift. Sidaa unbaa loogu daalici bisha ramadaan, bal ilaahay amrkii she commented to the others with her. Saakin was full of disdain for his critics. Intaasaa loo quudhi la’yahay, oo rag magac sheegani meelahaa kaga caayaan baa layidhi. Eedo Koraad was surprised: alla dadku isu daranaa, cajaa’iib! waa aakhri sabaan, she said. The oldest women in the marching crowd knew why all this is happening to the poor man: tol buuna la heyn! Badal Garawle lost credibility among most; but it was not all fiasco. Reputation yaryaraysi male, and he can never forget when a stingy shop owner who never lends anything to anybody, allowed him to take a shirt on loan from his shop; remarking sow ninka bisha arkaa adiga matihid?! But the day he told Muxumed Barkhadle that he is being sought by the army for execution, the latter laughed at him, querying scornfully,"taa inaga daa'yoo, have you seen Bishi again? This time for the start of the holy Month!"

Final Part The Commander, Abraha, knows he had ordered the execution of twenty-six of the men arrested that night. And had it not been for the wicked ‘ingenuity’ of his deputy, the diminutive Takle, would have displayed all of the dead bodies. Takle suggested that fourteen of them be strangled to death; and their bodies buried inside the camp. Unlike his bullish boss, Takle is more calculative and cunning. But his meanness and barbarism is unmatched by any in his regiment. His undisguised hypertrophic sense of ‘gallantry’ is annoying to most of his subordinates, as well. Displaying the dead will satisfy his burning desire for revenge, in addition to the ‘terror’ that it will send down the spine of the ‘coward’ Somali’s. Hiding the rest of the dead, will quell the feeling of desperation that could result in an outburst of violence, and will serve the purpose of extorting extra ‘income’ from anxious family members. Three months after the Eid, the fortunate ones who cheated death by the grace of God, came out one after another to the hug and cries of their beloved families. Amran and Kaafi’s family stood there for hours-waiting patiently. All in all, the numbers of men who walked out of the military camp were fourteen. If all twenty-six ordered executions were carried out that Eid night, there will still be eight more men an accounted for. To date, no one can tell where they are. The army that took them didn’t offer any explanation, not only about them, but also about those buried en mass in undisclosed location. Dr. Roble is not a psychiatrist; but a general practitioner. Yet, the enormity and diversity of health problems in this small town turned him into ‘a doctor for all’. He just can’t sit back and protest it is not his area of specialization-whenever desperate villagers bring all kinds of patients into his two-room pharmacy/clinic. He does his best; and the community is grateful. When they brought Amran to him, nearly a year after that eventful Thursday; she had already lost her sanity. They told him that she looked for her husband in all the jails of the country, in vain. Amran’s account of that ‘epoch of lunacy’ is different, as she told her brother-in-law when she brought Nim’o for medical treatment thirteen years later. She says she saw her husband, walking in the street and run after him to tell him how much pain she has gone through, while he was away. She says, she is sure that it was him. Those that witnessed the incident in which she threw away her toddler and run bare-footed into the traffic in Harar, say they saw no one in the direction she ran to. She still claims that every night, analogues to the character in James Joyce’s Finnegan’s wake , her sub-conscious “breaks open” as she sleeps, Kaafi walks in silently, and then they would have a fabulous time together. That is why she dislikes the crow of cocks in the early morning, which “puts back together” her skull in the morning. In Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s acclaimed novel,Love in the time of Cholera , the lovesick Florentino Ariza, at one point conflated his physical agony with his amorous agony; when he vomits after eating flowers in order to imbibe Farmina’s scent- his love who is happily married to the respectable medical doctor, Dr.Urbino. The novel is a tale of unrequited love that explores the idea that suffering for love is a kind of nobility. In a bizarre analogy, Amran –in this desolate town in Hawd finds similar solace from knowing all her misery is for her lost husband. Florentino Ariza lived long enough in that fifty-year love triangle, to share moments of happiness with the widow Farmina-after the tragic death of her beloved husband. The societal view that love is a young person’s prerogative, when indeed they were now ebbing to their last days, was the only drawback to their enthralling tale. Amran finds happiness in the fantasy realm of her own imagination. Only in that mystical world does her passionate heart overwhelm her passionless mind. For her, “in the beginning was the love-not the thought”. All the real word offers to her is the glaring tragedy of her “loss”, of the promising days that never materialized, of the deprived joy of lifetime with the irreplaceable Kaafi; and that awakes her to the odour of putrefaction inside her. She views accepting the endless “you can’t kill yourself like this”, and “keep up your spirits, life goes on” advices of well-wishers; as being tantamount to profanation of the purity of her love to her late husband. Cruelly, that augurs an uncertain future to her. So, she neither listens nor adheres to it. Long ago, she has forfeited the temptations of carnality, and opted to live in the ‘spiritually rewarding’ world of madness. It doesn’t matter what she argues, and in the definition of this society, she is a ‘mentally unfit” women. Sadly for her, that is also the judgment of the last psychiatrist who saw her. He said, if she follows medication properly and lowers her stress, the frequency of the lapses she encounters would reduce. It is only Amran who still buys into that story of the unaccounted ‘eight’. She believes her man is alive somewhere; ‘I know he is’, she murmurs indignantly whenever they tell her to ‘move on’. Poor pitiful women! Her daughter also doesn’t refer to her father as ‘the late’. When she has to talk about him, It is ‘my missing’ father. Since the day she started identifying the good from the evil, she vowed not to celebrate any Eid. When her peers ask her, when she shall dance with them, she replies, when my father comes back! Amran’s misery is not something that was done purposely to spoil her life. She is too insignificant to have been targeted. Her crime is more like the young princes, who had to be butchered trying to get through the thorn-hedge that surrounded the proverbial sleeping beauty , just because they had the bad luck to be born before her hundred-year curse expired. Amran had the bad luck to have been born to the wrong side of the arid land of acacia and camels of Hawd; decades after some malicious white man put a line on a white paper and decided it be part of ‘where it never belonged to’ and ‘can never belong to’. She is even unluckier as ‘the white man’s curse’ that led to illegal occupation- unlike that of the sleeping beauty- is indefinite. Neither the ‘good fairy’ which made the princess sleep, nor the prince’s son who would kiss and awaken her, are guaranteed to come for her emancipation. That grisly Eid-day, when women’s wailing and ear-piercing cries replaced the customary cheers and rhymes of hope and ecstasy; left a panoptic memory of pain in the minds of all those who had the misfortune to witness it. It left a picture of the savagery of the ‘devil’ in the skin of a human, and of an endless suffering of the ‘cursed people’. That day’s ordeal was too horrific even by the standards of the land of widows, and orphans!! The land of O.ga.d.e.n.

MEMOIRS OF A FATAL HOLIDAY (An excerpt) Part One ‘She looked up to the sky And wished to be with her children …then remembering her last child Gazed desperately into the horizon And shouted a piercing sentence Stop killing our children! Stop killing our children!!!’ Laila Yaghi, river of tears First lieutenant Abraha, the commander of the army, was in no mood for mercy or compromise. If they had to celebrate their ‘silly Eid’ of the end of Ramadan, it is not my business, he thought. Indeed, if he has to teach them a lesson -on how hard losing a comrade is, it couldn’t have come at a better time. Last night, as he oversaw the burial ceremony of the fallen Tigrayan compatriots, his heart bled. Someone will have to pay dearly! He is not a judge or a priest to take the time to ascertain who is innocent or guilty! He is a soldier. And, a ‘fine’ one for that! He always believed they are all the same-‘yaw na chaw’; his catch word. All the Somali’s! Leboch (thieves)! Until now, Kaafi who is a lame man has escaped the suspicion of the Tigrayan military. However, the killing of six senior army intelligence officers last night, in front of the plot of land where he sells imported second-hand clothes; by unidentified gunmen, muddied the waters. A week ago, when two soldiers were ambushed and killed near the main motorized well in the center of the town, the army commander responded by heading straight to the house of the district chairman Omar-Dahir; and putting ten bullets in his skull in front of his children. He later justified his soldier’s actions in the joint security meeting with the ‘civilian’ administrators; stating that he had ‘evidence’ of the chairman’s involvement in the ambush. No one dared to question his ‘evidences’. In the mud house of Amran, apart from the Eid (holiday), the jubilation was for one more reason. It was at the dawn of the same day that she finally delivered a health baby girl, after long hours of labouring. Nim’o was born on that Thursday, a day of feast and happiness. Hours later, Abraha was addressing the over two hundred men who were praying in garoonka, a vast area enclosed for Eid prayers. These men were the last ones leaving the scene, having done their Salat(prayers); when they were surrounded by three land cruiser pick-up cars full of soldiers. "Stay put where you are"; one soldier ordered-before Abraha majestically jumped out of the cabin of one of the cars. He made a speech. “Listen! Ye Somale shimagilewooch (Somali elders!). Last night, six of our bravest fighters -flag-bearers- of the “generation that rocked mountains”, who played pivotal role in defeating the ‘cannibal’ Derg army, were killed by your sons. I don’t care if they are called URLF, or GST, or Altahaad or Al-mubaarakat! I am in no mood to indulge in etymology of weird acronyms and Arabic nouns. They are all Somali’s. You know them and you supply information, money and moral support to them. Now, I give you an ultimatum: produce the killers right here, or no one is walking from this sun alive.” He was not finished. “When one of your own is killed by another, you find out and take revenge or settle the issue through reparations. When one of our men is killed, all of a sudden you play deaf and dumb. That is not going to work anymore.” After ‘soaking up’ the sun for nearly three hours -with Abraha taking shade under one of the vehicles, one frail old man stood and spoke, trembling. ‘I think we have seen many governments before. We have also witnessed similar incidents. But this is the first time that, on a day of mammoth significance to us, we are forced to sit under the sun and confess ‘ crimes’ which a) we don’t know who did b) we haven’t done and c) even if we knew, we could have done nothing to stop it.’ The old man was agitated. ‘Is this fair? What kind of justice is this? What kind of humans are you when you don’t respect men in their seventies and eighties who just concluded a tough holly month; and for your information haven’t eaten since this morning? It is already three pm and our children are waiting to share the Eid with us. Order your ‘intelligence folks’ to investigate and let us go to our homes.’ First lieutenant Abraha stepped forward and caught the left ear of the old man with a vicious slap. “quj bal (sit down)” he ordered him. The old man fell to the ground well before the order. As he walked back to his car, he told the “hostages”, “fine. I see you have decided to protect your darlings. You can go now, I know what to do. Tayalaachu (you will see it).” The dust of his speeding vehicles dirtied some white dresses close by; as he dashed to the military camp. Quickly, that afternoon, Abraha took out a piece of paper and asked all the members of the district executive committee to name the most influential personalities in their sub-clans. When the list reached forty-eight, he was satisfied. For each of the Tigrayan ‘hero’ murdered, he will kill eight Somali’s. Of course, some might spoil his plan if they ‘buy themselves out’ of the death sentences. That is if they pay ten thousand Birr each. If that happens, the monetary gain will offset some of his disappointment, as long as a minimum of twenty are killed. In retrospect, it is still unbelievable how Amran’s husband, Kaafi, hadn’t heard of what virtually everyone in town knew about. That the army commander- first Lieutenant Abraha mentioned his name in a recent meeting; as the ‘number one’ conduit and supplier of information to the rebels. Almost everyone in town who heard of this news rushed to warn him. The first was his elder brother, who whispered to him, “wait for me till I finish my prayers, I have a piece of information for you”. But Kaafi completely forgot this message as he limped off hurriedly to the main market to get supplies to the new mother and her baby. When his brother was done with prayers, and saw that he is not around, he dashed to the only market where he knew he would find him. He wasn’t there; instead he opted to spend time with few Eid revelers. Kaafi’s friend, who knew that his friend is in danger, thought he can wait until next day. He was of the opinion that he shouldn’t dampen his sprits on this important day. Even Halima, Kaafi’s younger sister, who was sent by a member of the district administration, a sympathetic fellow clans-man; to warn her brother, couldn’t deliver the message. She had a bad week with her fiancée, and when he insisted that she must see him, she never thought it will take her that long. By the time she was done and came out of her lover’s tiny house, Kaafi had already been picked up. They got him near his house just after sun set, as he walked to his house to deliver clothes and food stuffs he bought for his wife and the new baby. He must have been coming, most likely, from Habiib’s house- his neighbour- where he was watching latest news from the lonely satellite dish in the town. Half-a-dozen soldiers suddenly stopped him. They didn’t produce any warrant nor did they say a word. They pushed and shoved him; and took him away. He begged them to let him see his new baby; but quickly gave up as one of the soldiers hit his groin with the butt of the gun he was carrying. Amran is not mystic and doesn’t believe in presentiments and ominous auguries. If she did, the falling of Kaafi’s shirt three times from the nail on the wall of her room could have given her a critical hint. She was surprised, but she took it as one of many ‘inexplicable experiences’ she encountered all her life.

Yes. I said those were my wish. This one is my head. They will points from France. I bet. And by the way, if France is to excel in this tournament, Henry and Viera will not be the ones who will do it. Those are old and useless. It will Sabri, and Karim Benzima and the youngsters. I don' t know why you players in their Twilight.

Isseh tan miyaad garan iyada. Maxamed Mooge. Bal dheecaami caashaqa Halistiyo dibnaha saar Niyadana u sii daa Qalbigana ka daalacooo Dookhaygan kaa helay Iyo kaagan iga daray Wa isla doonasho Ilaah Doonidii jacalyka aan raacnee Hay nala dawaaftee ku soo bood Dusheedaynu isku daawan doonaa Dusheedaynu isku daawan doonaayee * * ** ** ** Haaaa,Ina dooji caashaqa Sidii duunyadoo kale Deegaanta weheshada Isha waa ku dararraa Inaakoo daryeeliyo Darajo helo wacan Aynu wada dalxiisnee Doonidii jacalyka aan raacnee Hay nala dawaaftee ku soo bood Dusheedaynu isku daawan doonaa Dusheedaynu isku daawan doonaayeeee

^^Don't do that. It was always tough beating anyone at home. Germany looks like they have all in place for the cup. They are solid in all departments, but Lehmann (the golie) is suspect. Northern It is easy to follow the bookies favourites and say who will win. For instance, France is the favourite today against Romaina, and there is no one to choose between Netherlands and Italy. Italy are always low starters, and that might give the Ducth the edge. But I want you to comment on Tactics,and Techniques of the teams. That is where one's level of expertise is really detected. I go for Romania to upset the French. Romania is a tough team. I know France has higher pedigree. All my previous predictions were from my heart not head. But this one, I really think is coming.

It is how the request came about that was more important. The language she used. "Harvested without consulting me?" and and the grumble,"What am I going to pass my time on". It was people's imagination that jumped ahead with their own nasty things. And condemnations. Ibtisam was one of the loudest. And even has the indecency of not accepting a hand of friendship and apology. And great poem, which I now understand I sent to the wrong address. Ileen af-Somaliga iskuma fiicnaba. What a wasted effort!

^ Hagaag.